


Something's Gotta Give

by CoffeeMinx



Series: What Happens In Freeside Universe [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Attempted Public Humiliation, Canon Dialogue, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Torture, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Public Nudity, References to Canon, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Slavery, Some Plot, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, gratuitous Latin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeMinx/pseuds/CoffeeMinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You should probably at least skim parts 1 and 2 of this series, so you know where the Arcade/Vulpes relationship is coming from. </p><p>Since they never even meet during the actual game. :) </p><p>In case you never did a play-through where your Courier aligned with the Legion: It's canon that a pro-Legion Courier sells Arcade as a slave to Caesar.</p><p>Title is from the song <em>Something's Gotta Give</em> by Johnny Mercer (1954).</p><p>Originally written for the Fallout Kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Vulpes, come, meet my newest acquisition." 

Caesar was looking quite pleased with himself. Vulpes strode over the antique carpets leading to the open audience chamber. 

"You are in rare spirits today, my lord." That in itself was cause for celebration. Caesar's headaches and mental absences had been worrying of late.

"So would you be. My health is about to improve. As is the conversation at my dinner table." 

"Oh?" Vulpes smiled as he took up his place at Caesar's side. "The Auto-Doc speaks now, does it?" He was close enough to see Caesar's eyes glitter with malicious glee. 

"Even better. Guards! Bring the doctor front and center."

From the hidden back of Caesar's private tent came an irritated, "I can walk, thank you. Oh, well, if you're going to be like that about it, go ahead. Drag me. See if I care."

Vulpes recognized that voice. His pulse increased even as cold dread congealed in the pit of his stomach.

Two Praetorian guards dragged Arcade out from Caesar's tent. A slave collar encircled his neck, its red active light a baleful glow even in the sun, and his wrists were bound together in front of him with rawhide cords. The guards, one at each shoulder, pulled him along so roughly that his lab coat, which had seen better days, flapped in the breeze they made. 

Caesar chuckled as they passed his throne. "Look what the Courier got me."

The guards forced Arcade to his knees in the center of the audience room, then released him and stepped back. Arcade used his bound wrists to push his glasses up his nose and then tossed his head, trying to get his tousled forelock back into place. 

"He was a bargain, too. My, you're eager."

Caesar's words brought Vulpes up short. He hadn't even realized he'd started forward.

"Go ahead," Caesar continued. "Nothing is more delicious than gloating over the fate of the stricken."

Never was Vulpes more grateful for his frumentarii training. There was something to be said for habitually hiding one's emotions. It was imperative Caesar not realize what he was truly feeling. Actually, he wasn't certain what he did feel. Too many thoughts rampaged around his brain. He had to get everything back in line, under control, all emotion strapped down tight. Sentiment could only get you killed.

Slowly, Vulpes circled the doctor, hyper-aware of Caesar's eyes upon him. "Well, well, well. So. Braxton sold his companion."

"I never did know whom to trust." Green eyes glared up at him. 

"Will you kill him for it, profligate?"

"I don't see how, being as I'm rather tied up at the moment."

"You wouldn't, even if you were free. You're…nice."

"You say that with a sneer."

"The word lends itself to sneering."

"You know something of this man, Vulpes?"

"Only what I have heard, Caesar. He is one of the Followers, from the branch who aid the people of Freeside. Idealists. Harmless."

"Tomorrow he is going to operate on my head. It should be interesting to watch. The room will be filled with sharp objects, and more of them will be pointed at the good doctor than at me."

"Perhaps the doctor should be allowed to rest, then. His faculties must be conserved for tomorrow." Vulpes spoke to Caesar, but he faced Arcade. Which was how he caught the flicker of bewilderment in the doctor's eyes. 

"Nonsense. A little fun won't drain him unduly." 

"But…."

"He'll be in top form tomorrow regardless, because he knows if he fails, Lanius will have him crucified."

Vulpes could already tell Caesar was not to be put off. The excuses were irrelevant. The lord of the Legion wanted a show. 

Normally his reaction to this would be indifference. If Caesar needed this, then it must be done. He never felt much one way or the other. 

So why there was such a tempest in his chest now he didn't understand. It wasn't pleasant. He felt the muscle in his jaw twitch. 

"And," Caesar continued, "Dr. Gannon needs to understand what refusing to engage in polite conversation with me will earn him."

"Yes, my lord." Vulpes answered as calmly as he usually did when receiving an order. But for some reason the stony quality to Arcade's emerald eyes had eased.

"Too decrepit to do your own intimidating?" Arcade asked, leaning around Vulpes to direct the barb at Caesar.

"Make him kiss your boots." 

Vulpes could hear Caesar's scowl in those snarled words, he didn't need to turn around.

"Oh, that's original." Arcade scoffed. 

Vulpes lashed out, selling the move with a forceful twist of his body to disguise how gently his hand actually landed on the back of Arcade's neck. Using small, circular movements, he rubbed his thumb against the skin of the doctor's throat. He hoped it came across as reassuring. There wasn't much else he could do. Not only was the collar in the way, but Caesar was watching.

"Down, slave," he ordered, voice as clipped and cold as he could make it. He ran his hand up the back of Arcade's head and pushed, again putting more show into the move than strength, and hoped Arcade would understand. They didn't have a choice. And if the doctor continued to needle Caesar, he might be ordered to do something he couldn't fake.

Arcade rocked forward, his bound hands hitting the dirt first, then his forearms. He had to shift his knees farther apart to achieve more stability. Then he leaned down to rest his cheek on the toe of Vulpes' boot.

Vulpes caught his breath as the contact blazed like lightning straight to his cock. There was a certain dark thrill to having this man at his feet. His breath hitched in his chest and for a moment all he could do was drink in the view.

"Make him beg."

Caesar was either infiltrating his dreams or his nightmares. Vulpes drew his machete and gently prodded the doctor's back. When Arcade raised his head, Vulpes caught him under the chin with the flat of the blade. Arcade's eyes widened slightly but he said nothing, just struggled away from the sharp edge, pushing himself upright. The machete slowly stalked his throat as Vulpes forced him back to his knees.

"Beg to suck him," Caesar ordered.

Pleading to perform fellatio was one of the most degrading things you could make a legionary say. It was a classic punishment. Profligates being profligates, Vulpes reckoned spouting mere words wouldn't be much of a chore for the waffly doctor. This would be over quickly.

"No." Arcade shook his head defiantly.

Okay. That was a surprise.

"Say. It." With the amount of anger churning in those two little words, Caesar might not survive to his operation tomorrow. He'd die of apoplexy. 

"You know, I was wrong when I said you were just another petty bully stepping on people to get his way. You're a _perverted_ petty bully stepping on people to get your way."

That strangled roar of rage coming from Caesar did not sound good.

Vulpes shifted so Caesar couldn't see his face and spoke low and quick, "Gannon. Hate me if you must, but do not get yourself killed over trifles."

Arcade sighed. "Non potero te odire," he whispered. _I cannot hate you_.

Vulpes' heart pounded for freedom against his ribcage. He hadn't expected that either. Arcade was full of surprises. If they could just get this over with, perhaps find a chance to talk....

"Beg for me," Vulpes said loud enough for Caesar to hear, while he hoped Arcade would play along.

Arcade captured his gaze, green eyes burning directly into his. "Dominus meus permitto me te amare, te fellare, sodes." _My master, let me love you, suck you, I pray you_.

Vulpes' mouth had gone absolutely dry. 

"Good boy." Caesar cleared his throat. "Now kiss Vulpes' knees."

Vulpes swallowed a moan. This was ridiculous. Nevertheless, it was Caesar's order. 

He sheathed his machete so Arcade could comply. The doctor's knees scuffed the dirt as he shuffled closer. He leaned in and Vulpes felt the caress of warm breath. 

Anticipation prickled across his skin. His eyes slipped closed and he waited, body practically quivering with suspense. Any second Arcade's lips would touch him. He felt the front of his Legion habiliments start to ruck up.

Wait, _what_? His eyes snapped open to see Arcade's head disappearing beneath his uniform's hem. Oh, no. No, no, no. Teeth tenderly nipped his thigh. Vulpes choked back a grunt of pleasure. 

"Stop," he hissed under his breath, his hands tightening into fists. Arcade was biting, no kissing, his inner thigh and he couldn't control the way his nerves sang in response. Caesar was going to notice. Caesar was going to notice his impassive mask cracking for once and wonder why. Fighting for composure, fighting the way his lungs shuddered and his cock ached for contact, he gasped, "O-out."

Arcade ducked back out, with a devilish waggle of an eyebrow and the ghost of a wicked grin.

They were undermining Caesar's authority right under his nose. If he only knew…. They would be executed. The both of them. He wasn't hurting Arcade and Arcade wasn't feeling the least bit humiliated. In fact, Arcade was enjoying this. 

The corner of the doctor's glasses provided a blunt point of pressure as Arcade placed his cheek against Vulpes' groin, just to the side of the erection the leather skirting of his uniform did little to disguise. Okay, he was enjoying this, too. 

Arcade nudged him with his nose, like a dog pleading for attention. No, more like he was pleading to give attention. 

_Fuck, yes. Irrumabo te._

Arousal was erupting into physical pain, interfering with his thought processes, twisting his mind into a single, reiterated chant of urgent need. All he could think about were those lips. And what thrusting inside Arcade's hot, salivating mouth might feel like. He brushed the back of his fingers along Arcade's cheek.

"No, I do not require the services of a degenerate such as yourself." Absolutely not. In the same way that he didn't need to breathe. But his voice sounded cold enough and he hoped that with this rebuff Caesar would be satisfied. Humiliation accomplished. 

"Go ahead. You have my permission to continue."

Mars take the man! Would this never end? Vulpes made a brief bow to Caesar in acknowledgement of the honor his leader was bestowing upon him while sorting through his lust-blackened thoughts for something lucid. Anything that would get them out of this. "Thank you, my lord, but I prefer not to sully myself with profligates more than I must."

"I admire your restraint. No matter." Caesar shrugged. "Lucius! Come here!"


	2. Chapter 2

Vulpes spun away from Arcade, automatically positioning himself between Lucius and the doctor. He didn't know if Caesar had somehow caught a glimpse of his badly eroded heart and planned to punish them, or if he merely wished Lucius to take over since he had refused. Was the ruler of 86 tribes really that desperate for a show? 

He tracked Lucius' approach to the throne, wondering which of them he'd attack first. It didn't matter--he would have to kill Vulpes before he could ever hope to touch Arcade. 

"I require your particular talents, Lucius, on a slave in need of punishment," Caesar announced.

Silently Vulpes swore, his curses filthy and ferocious. He was safe, but he'd just inadvertently tossed Arcade to the wolves.

He turned back to the doctor, intending…what? There was little he could do at this point. And was surprised to see Arcade's perky expression of joy.

"Yes! God, yes. Thank goodness for Lucius. I thought I was going to have to…." Arcade shivered. "Thank you, Caesar. I didn't know you were so soft-hearted. I apologize for what I said earlier."

"What?" Caesar snapped.

"Complete apology. Lucius, get over here. Yes, yes. Hurry up. Or you with the hair, over there. Yes, you. Anyone but him." Arcade nodded toward Vulpes. "He's scary."

There was a lengthy pause before Caesar said, "You don't find the head of my Praetorian Guards 'scary'."

"Fuck no. He's just a big…big…teddy bear. Yes. He's a teddy bear and you, well, you're a gentleman, protecting me from _him_." He cast his eyes down, like he was afraid of even looking at Vulpes.

The confusion on Caesar's face intensified, while Lucius looked increasingly aggravated and not in the least like a child's stuffed toy.

"Yes, I always liked Lucius," Arcade continued. "Your finding me an attractive partner - it's…maternal, Caesar. That's what it is. Maternal. And that's good, because women do make the best leaders, don't they? At least in the NCR…."

" _Tacebis_!" Caesar shouted. "Never mind, Lucius. Vulpes, shut him up."

"No, no! Wait! What did I say?!" The doctor cringed, holding his bound wrists up in a feeble attempt to ward off danger. "Please, not Vulpes. Anyone else. Please. Not him."

Vulpes stepped close to Arcade. The doctor was in need of some better acting lessons, but Caesar believed and that was all that mattered. "This makes me the briar patch, Brother Rabbit?" he whispered, combing his fingers through Arcade's thick wavy hair. 

"Thorns and all." Arcade glanced up at him. The relief on his face was so obvious, Vulpes grasped a fistful of the doctor's hair and pulled before Caesar saw the expression. Arcade winced. "Good start."

Vulpes released his hair and placed his hands on either side of Arcade's head. For a panicked second he wasn't certain what to do next. He'd never done this as an act of…he couldn't think of the correct word--consent? He'd never cared about his partner before. Never cared about anyone. Suddenly everything seemed awkward, like he'd stumbled into uncharted territory.

"You're going to want to lift that," Arcade whispered, nodding at leather skirting of his uniform.

Oh. Right. Of course. He shifted his one hand to the back of the doctor's head, and withdrew the other to lift his clothing out of the way.

"Even more impressive in the light," Arcade commented, eyebrows raised in admiration. 

Before Vulpes could decide whether "Thank you" or "Shut up" was the appropriate response, the doctor's mouth was on him. And apparently he had no gag reflex. Vulpes moaned.

He was luxuriating in the wet slide of the doctor's mouth when Arcade pulled off and muttered under his breath, "Harder."

"What?"

"Use me harder. Thrust deeper. I can take it."

"You're…pushy."

"No, you're inexperienced. Astonishingly."

"Abstinence is a virtue."

"The Dissolute have more fun."

"He's not still talking, is he?" called Caesar.

Arcade pulled an irreverent face, crossing his eyes, before returning to sucking Vulpes off.

Vulpes kept his responding grin out of his voice as he answered, "No, my lord."

Then he squeezed the back of Arcade's neck and yanked him forward. Arcade yielded easily. Vulpes closed his eyes and began a series of savage thrusts into the doctor's mouth, pretending he was a mere object to be utilized. Despite soft choking sounds, the doctor somehow kept up with his pace. 

It felt incredible. The way Arcade's tongue swirled and pressed against him, the forceful suction that seemed capable of drawing out his very soul, and the additional unexpected little vibratory hums that compelled his hips to plunge uncontrollably, all made the doctor's mouth feel like the tightest, hottest, wettest thing in existence. Something between a snarl and a groan tore from him and he arched his back. His fingers dug into the nape of Arcade's neck. He was so, so close.

Tension and fire and sparks spiraled inside him, the storm waiting on a knife's edge for release. If only he could share these sensations with Arcade. If only the doctor could feel this too. He wanted to see pleasure on his face, but he was sure all that would be there was pain. 

Forcing himself to look, he gazed down at Arcade on his knees before him, water streaming from his half-shut eyes, and caught a glimpse of Arcade's bound hands furtively pressing down upon his own erection. 

Vulpes eyes slammed shut with that image of the doctor's blissful craving burned into the back of his eyelids. He bit down on his lower lip, tasting blood, as he came and came. Arcade swallowed, working him through each spasm, each erratic shudder until his straining nerves were subjected to so much stimulation he was almost in agony and yet he never wanted it to stop.

When his brain finally bothered to tune in to his surroundings once more, he realized the doctor's lips were tenderly kissing his softening flesh. Then Arcade was nuzzling at him, and all the while making quiet, submissive sounds which were both farcically exaggerated and incredibly arousing. His cock twitched, gamely attempting to respond. By all the gods, he could probably be dead and his cock would still try to respond if Arcade asked.

The thought fleetingly occurred to him that perhaps the doctor's act was going too far. But no, Caesar seemed to accept his docile charade, for at the vague corner of his consciousness, Vulpes heard Caesar saying something about that being the exemplification of punishment. It was the exemplification of something, all right. But it was too new to Vulpes for him to risk giving it a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brer (Brother) Rabbit and Brer Fox stories are part of American folklore. The briar patch one is a tale of psychological manipulation, where the rabbit, caught by the Fox, pleads to be eaten rather than have to suffer through a briar patch. So the Fox, intent on causing the most harm, throws him in the briars. 
> 
> Rabbit, born in a briar patch, merrily hops away.


	3. Chapter 3

The operation was a success. Caesar awoke feeling better than he had in years. Arcade's reward was a nameplate on his collar. It wasn't _his name_ , of course. Apparently "Arcade" was not a popular child's name Pre-War. But it was decorative, and that was all that really mattered as far as the leader of the Legion was concerned. 

Vulpes stood at the entrance to Caesar's audience space and watched Arcade sitting, reading in the open-sided tent to the right. The doctor was alone, with no restraints, no guards, and free run of Caesar's tent complex--because to leave it would trigger the explosive charges in his slave collar. 

The forlorn cast to his countenance as he slowly flipped through the pages of the ledger in front of him made Vulpes wonder what private thoughts he intruded upon. He hadn't meant to sneak up on Arcade. The carpets muffled sound. And he tended to walk stealthily out of habit.

He cleared his throat and Arcade's head jerked up, tense body and wide eyes broadcasting his alarm. Upon seeing it was him, the doctor visibly relaxed and, as he continued to stand in the threshold, offered him a warm smile.

"Are you waiting for an invitation? 'Cause I don't think I'm allowed to have friends over."

Vulpes approached. "What are you reading?"

"Slave ledger. If only the Great Khans knew what was in store for them." He put the book down on the table at his side. "What's up?"

"Caesar will be returning from his inspection of the Legate's camp soon."

"Thanks for the warning. Bated breath, that's me. Though I suppose it'd keep Caesar farther away if it were _baited_ breath. Huh. We are on the Colorado River. Do you have bait here?"

Vulpes ignored the rambling. "I would buy you were I able."

"Yesterday was fun, wasn't it? Well, just wait. I'm sure my price will come down once Caesar realizes just how boring my conversation truly is."

"It is not a matter of cost. My lord is determined to keep his…pet. He says he will only part with you temporarily, when he hands you out like the Auto-Doc, as a reward."

"Wonderful. Wait--you really asked?"

"I asked. When I was refused, I attempted to persuade my lord that you require your own tent. It was then he informed me you will see so few patients, you will have no use for your own tent." 

"Don't tell me. He thinks his private tent is big enough for the two of us. I get to be chained to his bed like a dog."

"Funnily enough, our dogs do not wear chains. Nor collars. Nor do our slaves. You are considered a capture, which is why you still wear yours."

"That really wasn't the point."

"I know," Vulpes answered quietly. 

Arcade took off his glasses and laid them on the table beside the book. He rubbed his hands over his face, then ran his fingers through his hair. "If you want to hear a secret, I'm hoping this is really all part of Braxton's grand plan to defeat the Legion." 

"And how does selling you into slavery achieve this goal?"

Arcade chuckled. "All right, I'm still working out the mechanics of that one, I admit." He glanced up at Vulpes. The bravado was gone. He suddenly looked very vulnerable and lost. "Thanks for trying to help me."

"I failed. Failure deserves no thanks."

"You did your best. I have to believe that's always worth something. I did my best to bring about an independent New Vegas. Now not even I'm independent. But it has to be worth something, in the scheme of things, that I tried."

Unwilling to crush an idealist's last illusion, Vulpes just nodded and said nothing. 

"Is Braxton playing for your team now?" Arcade asked after a while.

"Caesar believes your sale sealed the Courier's support. It remains to be seen if my lord's trust is warranted."

The doctor shook his head. "I really thought he wanted an independent New Vegas."

Since dwelling on the past was unwise when there was a present to be dealt with, Vulpes changed the subject. "Does Caesar treat you well?"

Arcade shrugged. "Caesar likes what he calls the 'irony' of having a slave from the Followers. I'd tell him that's not irony proper, but I like to snicker about it behind his back."

Vulpes smiled. "By Mars, you walk a fine line."

"Not really. But I've discovered--and my amazement's as great as yours, I assure you--that I'm not a servile kind of guy. Surprising, right?"

"No. Not surprising at all."

A commotion from the direction of the tent complex entrance heralded Caesar's return. Arcade grabbed his glasses and returned them to his face. Vulpes stepped back a few paces and turned to greet Caesar.

His lord had work for him. Between helping Cato Hostilius with the plan to assassinate President Kimball and preparing the route for Lanius' arrival, Vulpes was kept away from the Fort for the next two nights. When he returned, arriving in time to catch Caesar and his doctor at breakfast, he was struck by how tired Arcade looked. 

As he crossed the audience space and approached their table, Caesar was brusquely commanding Arcade, "You will explain that last remark."

Arcade silently shook his head and looked away. He saw Vulpes and a grin lit his face. With a dismissive wave of his hand in Caesar's direction, he declared, "Never mind. Silly Arcade is just telling magnetic field jokes for his own amusement."

Caesar leaned forward in his seat, both hands clenched. "Don't dare treat me like an imbecile. I'm not some tribal - I was a Follower once, too."

"Yes. Shame about that. But every organization has a black sheep, I suppose."

Caesar tapped the fingers of one hand along the tabletop. And then he smiled. "You will learn your place, Doctor Gannon." 

Caesar very rarely smiled like that. It did not bode well for the target. Arcade did not realize how close to the fire he was playing. 

Jolted from his thoughts by Caesar's eyes upon him, Vulpes launched into his report. Satisfied with what he heard, Caesar dismissed him, leaving Vulpes no opportunity to speak with Arcade.

That should not have bothered him, but it did.

While most captures were broken by the slave-master and transitioned nicely, some did not adjust to slavery and had to be euthanized. He did not want Arcade to fall amongst that lot.

The Praetorians, being in constant contact with Caesar, would know how Arcade's domestication progressed. Vulpes sought out Lucius and, much to his surprise, found him asleep in his tent.

He shook Lucius awake. "How is the doctor behaving?" One of the benefits of an anti-social reputation was not having to waste time with formal but idle pleasantries, even with the leader of the Praetorian Guard.

Lucius woke quickly, being a good soldier. He raised an eyebrow as if mildly surprised by the question, but answered nonetheless. "Not well. He's spending his nights on his feet until he agrees to obey Caesar implicitly. Bothersome prick better give in soon. Caesar has given me the chore of prodding him awake." He yawned. "His sleep deprivation is my sleep deprivation. Now if you don't mind…."

"Of course." Vulpes turned to leave but Lucius called him back.

"Caesar appropriated my favorite slave girl once. You think you can take them back afterwards, but…sometimes it's better to just have 'em put down."

Vulpes could feel heat rising up his face. Did Lucius suspect...? No, there was nothing to suspect. His concern for Arcade was merely an offshoot of his concern for Caesar. Nevertheless, anxiety twisted in his gut. He covered it with a cold expression and narrowed eyes. "I do not know why are you telling me this."

"No. Sorry, neither do I. Goodnight." Lucius rolled over on his bed.

It was not until late that afternoon that Vulpes saw Lucius again. He had been congratulating Cato on the successful assassination of the NCR president when Lucius entered his tent.

"Thought you might want to know…." Lucius glanced briefly at Cato, then returned his attention to Vulpes. "Gannon's said some unpardonable things to Caesar. And in better Latin than Caesar's, from what I'm told."

Vulpes almost laughed. That damnable man. Arcade would correct Mars to his face if it meant a chance of flaunting his intelligence. 

"So Caesar is gifting his slave to the Praetorian Guard after dinner tonight, " Lucius finished. 

Despite the Mojave heat, Vulpes' insides suddenly felt cold. "Gifting as in…." He had to force the words to leave his lips.

"As in all of us get a turn with him. The only rule is he has to remain alive." 

"A limitation that spoils good sport," declared a new voice. Another Praetorian had appeared at the entrance to his tent. "I wanna try castration, but I don't know if Siri's skills are good enough to keep him alive afterward." 

Lucius scowled at the newcomer. "What are you doing here, Cordus?"

Cordus stood straighter and saluted his commander. "Caesar sent me to inform Vulpes Inculta that the frumentarii are also invited, sir. Caesar is open to suggestions learned from time among the profligates."

Vulpes knew the next few hours were going to be the longest of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

Vulpes strode down the carpets toward the spectacle in the center of Caesar's audience area, around which the Praetorians and Frumentarii milled. He had witnessed Caesar do many things to slaves. 

This was…unusual.

Arcade was gagged with a slave scarf. Other than that, he was naked. Utterly naked. Even the slave collar was gone.

He hung suspended from two giant iron poles crossed in a high, narrow 'X'. Thick rope bound each wrist to the iron, stretching his arms in a painful battle with gravity. The same coarse rope bound his ankles together. The posts had been made long enough that, despite Arcade's height, his toes only skimmed the dust on the ground. 

This position emphasized both his stature and his helplessness. So many muscle groups on display, straining and quivering, stressed and unable to relax. Who would have guessed such a sculpted body lurked beneath that lab coat?

"Look at those lips," murmured one of the men circling Arcade. "A gag? I can think of better things to stick in his mouth."

Jagged laughter rumbled through the crowd. 

"I still say it would be funny to make him come all over himself." 

Vulpes recognized the speaker as a frumentarius named Gurges. Clearly that one had been among the profligates too long. He would have to be reassigned.

Gurges made a grab for the doctor. Knees together, Arcade tried to lift his legs and kick out in defense, but a length of rawhide tethered his ankles between the posts. He could only twist his dangling body. Though fruitless for him, it offered new views to the spectators.

Whistles and howls filled the air. The sounds were eerily familiar and Vulpes ground his teeth. Something was wrong when members of the Legion were encouraged to behave like the Freeside Dissolute. 

_We are better than profligates. We are better than this._ He stood at the back, apart from the crowd and wondered at how that small strip of sand between them could feel like such an abyss.

Caesar separated himself from the throng and stepped to the side of the crossed iron poles, hands raised for silence. "Now that we're all here, the games can begin."

This pronouncement was followed by cheers and a gruff chorus of "True to Caesar!" 

Their leader smiled upon them benevolently. "What do we wish to see performed first?"

"Castration!" Cordus called out.

That man had an unhealthy fixation. Vulpes decided that some dark night he would make certain this fixation did not get passed down another generation. For the good of the Legion, of course.

"I'll take that under advisement," Caesar replied to Cordus, grinning. "Anything less likely to kill our subject before the fun has even started?"

The slew of shouted sexual positions and foreign objects suggested were rather mind-boggling. Arcade twisted against his restraints, even though he had to know it was hopeless. In fact, his struggling just excited them more. The shouts coalesced into a muddy puddle of noise, although when a Praetorian yelled, "You could bounce an aureus off that ass," Vulpes heard those words with sickening clarity.

Caesar placed his hand on Arcade's flat belly, temporarily stilling him. "Why, Doctor Gannon, you seem a bit tense."

He slowly ran his finger along the light blonde trail of hair leading down from the doctor's navel. Arcade's skin trembled under the unwelcome attention. 

Caesar chuckled at his ineffective attempts to move away. "You might want to say no, but your body says yes. Doesn't it, slut?" 

Only it didn't. 

The doctor remained unmoved by Caesar's teasing touch. A quick glance at Arcade's eyes revealed the triumph burning there.

Caesar had conquered 86 tribes and yet he failed to curb this one man – neither his mind nor body would do a single thing the leader of the Legion wanted. And now he had failed in front of the entire Praetorian Guard and the Frumentarii. 

An uncomfortable hush fell over the crowd. Nothing broke the silence save a faint scuffing as men fidgeted with their uniforms or shifted from foot to foot. This would not end well. Caesar could have them all blinded for witnessing his failure, and they knew it.

"Cordus, I've decided your suggestion has merit. But I will perform the deed myself." Caesar spoke in a dangerously quiet tone. "Now. I need to have a consultation with my doctor. You are all dismissed."

While the rest of the men hurriedly filed out of the tent complex, Vulpes looked to Arcade.

Arcade's face could have been carved in stone. Only his eyes betrayed him. Disgust. Loathing. Fear. Yes, that was definitely fear. Possibly even a shard of horror.

Vulpes glanced to Caesar. He was smirking. The sweet discovery of vulnerability. 

Caesar hadn't yet broken Arcade, but he had found a possible means. He had finally succeeded in making the doctor afraid. 

Then one of Caesar's hands snaked down to palm the front of his skirt, in a move far more blatant than Vulpes would have expected from his dignified leader.

Caesar noticed his presence. "Didn't you hear me? I said dismissed."

Arcade was looking at him too, now. Unable to speak through the gag, he probably wouldn't have said anything even if given the chance. The doctor understood he was lost. Help was something no loyal member of the Legion could give. 

He faced his mutilation and possible death with no sound of protest. Perhaps such a fate held more attraction for him than living as Caesar's slave. His gaze simply sought Vulpes' in the same way conquered tribals sought the remnants of their culture in the yellow flames of their burning villages.

What the Legion did was for the betterment of those tribals, so such misplaced emotion had never bothered Vulpes before. But in that instant he knew the expression in Arcade's eyes was going to haunt him to his grave.

It was the most difficult thing he had ever done to turn and walk out of the tent.


	5. Chapter 5

_Calm. This should sound urgent, but not panicked._ He never sounded panicked. That would be a dead giveaway. Disciplining his breathing back to normal, Vulpes crossed the antique carpets, knowing Caesar did not hear him approach.

As he tossed his rucksack into a corner of the entryway, he could hear Caesar saying, "You're going to miss these. Until I force you to eat them. Roasted, perhaps. In a prickly pear sauce."

Vulpes strode to where Arcade still hung from the posts. Nothing had changed other than his gag had been removed. Probably the better hear his pleas and screams.

"My Lord, you are needed." _Perfectly calm delivery, as always._

Caesar looked up. He fondled Arcade's balls with one hand. His other held a knife. "What is it? Can't you see I'm occupied?"

Vulpes was scanning Arcade's pale skin and the ground below him. _No blood. Torture yet to start._ "The Legate's camp is on fire."

The knife dropped to the dirt and Caesar ran from his tent, barking orders to the legionaries. So violent was his exit that the flap didn't properly close. Vulpes swiftly moved to adjust it and grab his rucksack.

When he returned to Arcade, the doctor's mouth formed a tired grin. "I suppose I should thank my lucky stars."

"Your stars had less to do with it than my torch." Vulpes drew his ripper and freed Arcade's ankles. Then he reached up and sawed through the ropes binding each of his wrists.

Arcade groaned in pain as his feet finally found the floor and he was able to lower his arms. "Wait. You fired the camp?"

"Yes. With the prevailing wind it will take the flames ten minutes to reach our armament cache. Every man of the Legion will be ordered there to prevent that from happening. You should have a clear line of escape." He sheathed his ripper and slung down his rucksack, the one given him by Arcade, as it happened. From it he pulled a ragged slave's outfit and tossed the clothes to Arcade. 

Arcade dressed as quickly as his aching limbs would allow.

"Head to the boat for Cottonwood Cove," Vulpes continued.

"So your cunning plan to help a slave escape is to have me look precisely like a slave trying to escape?"

"Nobody runs. Ever. They'll think you're under orders." Vulpes strode over to the food safe in the corner and removed a box. He returned and handed the box to Arcade. "Especially if you're carrying this."

"A pie?"

"Strange meat pie. Caesar has them made for Aurelius of Phoenix as a treat."

"Strange meat…?"

"Don't ask."

"Oh my god. It's got fingernails in it, hasn't it. The demon barber of Fortification Hill."

"Quiet. Get moving. And if you run into trouble, these are pre-war invisibility devices." He retrieved two Stealth Boys from the rucksack and shoved them into the box with the pie. "We have many though we do not use them. Now go."

He shoved Arcade toward the tent flap, but the doctor turned to face him instead of leaving.

"One question. Why?"

"You saved me. Now I'm saving you. We shall be…even."

"Even? I didn't save you at the risk of my own life. Don't deflect a question from a practiced question-deflector."

"I believe you speak better Latin than English."

"I want to know why."

"Go. You don't…"

A sharp yell beginning with, "What is—" drew their attention to the entrance. The Praetorian who always guarded the outer flap to Caesar's tent complex stood there, staring at the unbound and uncollared Arcade in shock. Apparently Caesar hadn't ordered _every_ man of the Legion to the Legate's camp.

The Praetorian got no further with his question. Vulpes had already launched his attack. He drew his ripper in the same motion that he spun to face the interloper and struck, swift and fluid, without conscious effort or thought. 

Completing his sweeping arc to face Arcade again, he didn't bother to look back. The sentry's head would be toppling from his shoulders, accompanied by a spurting fountain of blood. A second later he heard the body folding up onto the floor in confirmation.

Arcade was staring at him, his expression equal parts amazement and alarm. "You're rather Lord Death, aren't you. That was almost balletic. If ballet were an arena blood sport."

"Thank you. Now go."

"How are you going to explain his death?" Arcade pointed at the headless corpse.

"You did it while escaping."

The doctor laughed. "They're never going to believe I did that. That's professional grade work."

"If I say you did it, they will believe. They know I am true to Caesar."

"This is you being true to Caesar, is it?"

"Yes. I am saving him from committing dissolute practices."

"Sure. Except the Legion is all about raping and pillaging."

Vulpes snarled. Nothing but inarticulate sound. He did not have the words to answer. He hadn't analyzed why he was going to help Arcade escape. He had seen the utter despair in the doctor's eyes when Caesar had ordered him out of the tent and knew it was something he had to do. 

Idealism was weak and stupid and an all-around good way to end up eaten by a Fiend. But it was part of what made Arcade unique, and he couldn't witness it die from his eyes, any more than he could witness the man's actual death. 

Which was inexplicable, since he not only witnessed, he _caused_ death on a fairly regular basis. 

If he didn't know better, he might suspect he had an emotional attachment to Arcade. A theory best kept to himself.

"Do not make this about you," Vulpes growled.

"Who said it was about me? Hey. _Is_ this about me?"

Vulpes pushed Arcade out of the tent.


	6. Chapter 6

Swearing under his breath at the inadequate slave footwear, the inconvenient location of the dock, and the insanity of holding a people-meat pie, Arcade made his way to the boat for Cottonwood Cove. 

Under normal circumstances, the path would have been decently lit by all the standing torches and braziers, but with the fire from the Legate's camp brightening the night sky, he felt like he could be identified all the way from New Vegas. The entire Fort could see him. Was watching him. Knew what he was up to.

Sweating like it was the height of midday, he continued down the steps. In the commotion of shouting and running legionaries, no one paid him any attention. Probably because slaves weren't being used to fight the fire. Even Caesar had to acknowledge that slaves would be unreliable rescuers of Lanius' camp. They probably all hoped he'd burn with it.

Walking with his eyes downcast, in the typical plodding steps the Legion expected from a well-broken slave, he passed the Legate's gate. His heart raced, panicking at practically every sound, certain he would hear a "hey, you!" behind him at any moment.

Someone was going to notice him. Someone was going to alert the guards. His heart pounded the words out in a crazed tattoo. Someone was going to start shouting that Caesar's favorite pet was escaping. Any moment. Any moment now.

He could see the dry, aged wood of the pier. Soon the boat would come into view. He hoped it wasn't already carrying legionaries. While he ostensibly had a legitimate reason for being there – _hooray for person pie_ – he didn't fancy spending hours with a gang of men who might kill him just because they felt bored. 

Or hungry.

The Enclave might have been genocidal, but at least they didn't try to cover the slaughtered in a flaky pastry crust. That could have been their slogan. At least we didn't eat you.

He wanted to giggle at the thought. _Probably hysteria._

The boards creaked under his feet. Freedom was close. So it would be right about now that his luck would run out. 

Was this how his father died, trying to escape from somewhere? Was this how Gannons typically went out? Pawns of fate in a larger game being played with rigged dice.

Nobody was guarding the dock. He might really, truly almost be free. Hope fluttered in his chest along with the bittersweet certainty that something terrible was about to occur. The feelings twisted and rolled inside him. 

His legs felt heavy and difficult to propel. The last few steps to the boat took far too long, as if the universe were expanding exponentially between his feet and the deck. He was never going to make it.

Then he touched the side of the boat. It was solid. Real. He climbed aboard, adjusting to the gentle sway from the water. 

No one here.

Joy tried to climb up his throat. Or maybe that was his lunch. 

He searched below. No legionaries. They must all have been called to the Legate's camp. The boat was empty.

He could steal it. Just take it. Explain that it was an emergency pie delivery if anyone asked when he arrived at Cottonwood Cove. 

Or not even go there. He could stop off before, anywhere in NCR territory. Just cross the river and head for…well, he wasn't sure where he'd go. One problem at a time. Just get across the river first.

He deposited the pie onboard and ran back out onto the pier to untie the moorings. His nerve-rattled fingers were fumbling with the ropes when the light thrown from the dock's standing torch went out. 

No, the flame still crackled. He was in someone's shadow.

"What have we here?" The voice was familiar.

Arcade looked up at the silhouette of a decanus. At least those stupid helmets were good for identification. He wondered if it might be the same decanus who'd harassed him on his first trip to the Fort. Out of all the men at the Fort, it couldn't possibly be. Unless Fate was determined to rape him.

"I'm thinking your tasty ass shouldn't be down here alone."

Yep. Fate was a bitch.

Suddenly, the air reverberated with the chugging roar of a ripper. Arcade's gaze flew to the decanus' hands. His empty hands.

The decanus stiffened, his body jerking unnaturally, while dark liquid Arcade knew was blood spewed from the man's back. The ripper alternately purred and chewed as its chained blade plunged through gristle and flesh and bone.

Then the lifeless body dropped with a squelchy thump to the blood-sodden wood, revealing Vulpes standing on the pier, legs braced for action, dripping ripper in hand.

Arcade released his pent up breath with a huff, unaware until that moment that his lungs had frozen. "Always dead bodies with you, isn't it? I can't take you anywhere."

"Get in the boat," Vulpes replied. "I have known brahmin with better covert skills."

"My covert bandaging skills are even rustier," Arcade muttered, then added louder, "Why are you here?"

Vulpes did not answer until he had the boat under way. "Your escape will have been for naught if you manage to kill yourself before reaching freedom."

Arcade chuckled. "Yes, I'm hardly a whirlwind of death if left to my own devices. Unlike you."

Vulpes glanced back toward the dock. It was too dark for Arcade to read his expression, but when his gaze returned to the river before them, the set of his jaw was even more determined, if that were possible. "One whirlwind of death at your whim."

"I like the sound of that." Arcade kept his tone light, humorous even, while a maelstrom of swirling heat threatened to flood his chest and make him voice embarrassing sentimental things a frumentarius would undoubtedly not wish to hear.


End file.
